Chapter 2

Calvin's voice.

What was he doing here?

I went rigid and turned around.

Calvin Valenti had appeared behind me — I had no idea when.

He had seven or eight bodyguards at his back, dressed in black suits, faces blank.

There wasn't a single person in New York's underground world who didn't know his name.

The young man I'd been dancing with hadn't registered what was happening yet. His hand was still resting at my waist.

Calvin said nothing to anyone. He moved through the crowd, stopped three paces from where I stood, and waited.

Someone brought a chair for him.

He settled into it unhurriedly, adjusted his cuffs, and let his gaze come to rest on the young man.

He was expressionless. But I knew. He was angry.

The serious kind.

"Which hand did you use to touch her?" Calvin said, his voice even and quiet.

The boy's face drained of color in an instant. "I — I didn't! We were just dancing—"

"I know you were dancing." Calvin's voice was unnervingly calm, almost disinterested. "I'm asking which hand."

I took a breath and stepped between them. "There's no need to make this into something it isn't."

Calvin glanced at me. "You're speaking up for him?"

"He didn't do anything wrong." I held his gaze. "He's innocent."

"If no one answers me," Calvin continued, cutting me off, his voice without inflection, "I'll take both."

The young man had completely lost the ability to form words. He stood frozen.

Before I could open my mouth again, Calvin had already lifted his chin — just barely, just once.

Someone stepped out from behind him without hesitation. A moment later, the young man let out a sound that tore through the silence.

I didn't move.

"Now." Calvin rose to his feet and took hold of my hand. "You're coming with me."

I knew exactly what would happen if I refused. If I didn't leave with him tonight, I might well be next.

"Fine," I said. "Let's go."

A Maybach was waiting outside.

Calvin pressed me into the back seat and climbed in after me.

The scent of him — woodsy, cool — closed around me the moment the door shut.

His face was very close to mine.

Damn it. Even in circumstances this bad, even knowing everything I knew, my pulse still picked up when those blue eyes turned toward me. It was infuriating. It was humiliating. And it changed absolutely nothing.

"Evelyn. I've been clear about this." Calvin's hand stayed around mine. "Before and after the wedding — you are not to set foot in places like this. Either of us."

No. You don't get to govern me anymore.

I turned my head toward the window, away from his gaze. "So what — you're going to punish me?"

"I've considered it," he said quietly.

"On what grounds?" I turned back. "I didn't do anything wrong."

Calvin's brow furrowed. "Look at yourself. Evelyn. Two years, and you still haven't become what I need you to be."

He even sighed. Like he was disappointed.

What you need me to be.

God help me, I had ever thought that was love.

If I could go back, I would have walked away from Calvin Valenti the very night we met.

The first time I saw him, it was at a Valenti family dinner. He was standing off to the side of the ballroom, near one of the columns, a glass in hand, maintaining exactly the right distance from everyone around him.

He was extraordinarily handsome. I fell for him immediately, like an idiot.

And then I became his fiancée, and I was happy for a full six months.

Right up until he started choosing my clothes for me. Telling me what shade of lipstick to wear. Sending me to the salon every month to have my brown hair lightened to the platinum he preferred. And that was when I understood: being chosen by him wasn't an honor.

It was a sentence.

I refused to live that way any longer.

"The wedding is next week," he said. "I expect you to adjust your attitude accordingly."

No. Because I'm not marrying you.

But I swallowed the words.

I couldn't let him find out that the contract had already been transferred. I knew exactly what he was capable of. If he found out now, I wouldn't make it past the front door, let alone across an ocean to Paris.

Just hold out until the wedding day.

Until the moment he lifts the veil and discovers that the bride standing in front of him isn't me at all.

By then, I would already be on the other side of the Atlantic.

The car stopped outside the Valenti estate.

Calvin stepped out and addressed the attendant waiting by the entrance without breaking his stride. "Take her upstairs and get her into something appropriate."

"I don't need—"

"You do." His tone wasn't sharp. It simply didn't leave room for argument.

His eyes dropped to my ears. "Those are an eyesore."

I stopped walking. "Excuse me?"

"The new piercings. I'd like this to be the last of them."

I almost laughed in his face.